


Of Elves and Men

by OrmondSacker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: Halfway down Park Street lies what could have been an ordinary townhouse if not for two things. The first was the murder of crows that always gathered in the trees up and down the street, clustering outside the house and perched on its roof. The second was the fact that an old witchcraft shop was located in the building on its ground floor.
Relationships: Hugh Culber & Joann Owosekun, Hugh Culber & Saru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Culmets Celebration 2020





	Of Elves and Men

Halfway down Park Street lies what could have been an ordinary townhouse if not for two things. The first was the murder of crows that always gathered in the trees up and down the street, clustering outside the house and perched on its roof. The second was the fact that an old witchcraft shop was located in the building on its ground floor. Gossip among the residents of the other houses on the street was that the former was connected to the latter, after all both the crows and the shop had been there for decades and the wife in one elderly couple living there distinctly remembered that the crows had arrived on one bright, sun filled day when the woman who opened the shop moved in. 

While that woman no longer lived there her grandson did and he ran the shop just as she had. And kept talking to and feeding the crows as she had. 

But for all of the talk and side-eyeing the neighbors might do about the shop and its owner no one ever tried to do anything about it. Not anymore. The few that had tried in the past had found strange misfortune befalling them and talk about that lived on on the row of townhouses too, along with the crows and the shop. 

* * *

Bright sunlight shines through a crack between the heavy curtains, hitting Hugh’s eyes and causes him to stir in his sleep. He groans and rolls over on his other side, burying his face in his pillow but too late, he’s already too awake to find sleep again. Huffing he considers staying in bed but he was never one to lounge in the morning when he went to bed alone, something that has been the state of things for quite a while now. 

And alone he is this morning. 

So he pushes off the covers and swings his legs out of the bed. The chill air makes him shiver, dressed as he is only in boxer shorts and the protective pendant he always wears, and he quickly slip his feet into his slippers and pulls on the dressing gown that hangs on a knob next to his bed as always, relishing in the feeling of the soft, warm fabric. 

He shuffles down a floor to where the kitchen in his home is located and sleepily begins to make coffee and breakfast but his morning routine is soon interrupted by an insistent tapping against the kitchen window. 

The pecking sound makes Hugh look up from his cooking to see two crows perched right outside the window, giving him a stern look. Laughing Hugh opens the window, shivering against the cool air spring that is let in. One of the crows jump inside, onto the window sill next to a pot of basil and caws sharply at him. 

“Morning Toes,” Hugh greets him. “And morning to you too Bridget.” 

Toes let out another sharp caw. 

“Oh you think I’m late? Can’t have that can we.” 

He takes the sauce pan in which he was cooking eggs off the stove and picks the two he intends for himself out of the pan with a spoon, holding under the cold water tap to stop the cooking while leaving the others to get a bit harder boiled. In the meantime, he removes a couple of sausages from the frying pan and begins to cut them to pieces, followed by the hard-boiled eggs once they are done and have cooled. 

Scooping the chopped bits of food into a bowl and putting the stove on a low simmer he shoos the two crows out of the window. 

“Up you go to the others. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Toes jumps out the window and he and Bridget flies up to the roof. 

The town house that Hugh bought off his grandmother when she retired is in three stories. At the ground floor is the witchcraft supply shop and the basement beneath serves as storage for it. The floor above the shop has a combined living room and kitchen, a small toilet and a guest room for when friends stay over, it used to be Hugh’s bedroom when his grandmother lived there. On the top floor is the master bedroom, a bathroom and a study filled with arcane books where Hugh performs his craft and on the flat roof on top of it all is the small roof top garden he and his grandmother had created. 

Hugh regrets it the moment he steps out on the roof top with the chopped crow treats, it is far too early in the year to be outside in just boxers, slippers and a dressing gown but he can tell from the cawing of the crows perched on the raised flowerbeds and on top of the greenhouse that he would become unpopular if he went back inside to get dressed before feeding them. So he quickly walks over to the stone slab he uses as a bird feeding tray and scatters out the treats across it. 

The crows descend on the delicacies instantly with much flapping and cawing. 

“Alright you all, behave yourself,” Hugh admonishes them before quickly slipping back inside and rushing down to his bedroom to put on some warmer clothes before returning to his own breakfast. He leaves the window open in spite of the chill, the warmer clothes make it tolerable. Most times the crows are happy to gobble up the treats and then return to going about their corvid business, but every so often one or more of them will come back down and tell him share news with him, of what they have seen, of what they have heard. Such is the barging his grandmother struck with them long before Hugh was even born, feeding in exchange for the occasional news and mutual protection. The witches watched over the crows and the crows watched over the witches. 

That is one of the reasons why his shop is a sanctuary of sorts for all of the supernatural community in the city. Not just witches frequent it, but so do werebeings, fae, the restless dead even the odd vampire. It had when his grandmother owned it developed as a hidden in plain sight place to meet, hear news, swap gossip and exchange services, a place where all were on their best behavior. Because of the witch and her deal with the crows. 

Said shop calls Hugh’s attention once he has finished his breakfast and he quickly clean up after his meal and gets properly dressed opting for a snug, warm, wine red sweater and black jeans. The pendant he slips beneath the shirt. After all, isn’t the best protection the one the assailant doesn’t know about until it is too late? 

As he heads down the stairs to begin readying his store for opening his phone beeps in his pocket. He pulls it out as he walks, checking his texts. 

_‘Will you drop by tonight?’_

The number belongs to Saru, one of the odder denizens of the city and that is saying something. 

Saru is the only name Hugh knows him by but he doubts that that is Saru’s real name. The fae are not wont to tell mortals their true names, even part fae like Saru. 

As fae goes Saru is indeed an oddity. Not only does he appear to like, even prefer, big city life, he enjoys the company of humans. Most fae find mortal affairs tedious and uninteresting, only getting involved out of boredom, greed or their own bizarre sense of humor. But as far as Hugh can tell Saru generally care about mortals, as much as any fae are capable of caring about anyone but themselves. And he seems to genuinely enjoy Hugh’s company, Hugh can admit at least to himself that he certainly enjoys Saru’s in spite of the complexities always inherent in dealing with a fae. 

Those complexities of course mean that Saru’s invitation could be any number of things from a simple enjoyable evening together in pleasant company, to a complex diplomatic conference and Hugh wouldn’t know until he got there. 

Still in spite of its perils Hugh decides to accept, it’s been far too long since he’s spent a night in anyone’s company but his own. 

‘When?’ he texts back. 

‘Dinner? At 7?’ 

Hugh mulls it over for a second. It isn’t one of the store’s late evenings, but to be at Saru’s at seven he’d have to leave here no later six. But Joann should be able to mind the shop alone until closing. 

‘I’ll bring the wine’ 

‘We will be having ragout, so bring a red.’ 

I’ll see what I can dig you. See you at seven’ 

He pockets the phone and begins to ready the shop for opening. 

The shop doesn’t open until 11am and the early hours are always slow, just the odd college or high school wannabe witch popping in to check on new books, or browse the crystal, incense or tarot section. It had always been a surprise to the city’s supernatural crowd that his grandmother’s shop had also catered to mundanes and many had thought Hugh would change that policy but he had seen no need to. It had made the magic shop a unique place where everyone might come, a neutral ground by unspoken agreement, even for those unaware of the dangers around them and Hugh wanted to keep it that way. 

This morning is no different than any other and Hugh finds himself with ample time to restock the bookshelves, tidy the small corner he has turned into a reading café by Joann’s suggestion and browse on his phone for a good red wine to bring tonight. 

Just before 3pm Joann shows up for her shift, bundled up in a thick coat and with a knitted cap on. 

“It’s gotten really windy out there,” she says when she steps in. 

“They did promise that. And rain later. Guess I’ll be using a rain coat.” 

“You going out?” 

“Saru invited me for dinner. You okay with staying here alone for the last hour?” 

“Sure I can lock up. Michael’s grouchy right now and I’d rather be out of her hair and have her out of mine.” 

“Paper not going as it should?” 

“Oh it’s going fine, but she’s such a neat freak.” 

“Says the building engineering student. Isn’t that the subject where you need to be a neat freak or the whole thing will come down on someone’s head?” 

“Not much different than witchcraft, you need to take care and know what you’re doing. But there’s that and then there’s... Michael writing a paper,” Joann laughs. 

It’s a good half hour to Saru’s place with traffic taken into account, so Hugh leaves a little past six so he has time to pick up the wine on the way. 

“Thank you for minding the shop tonight,” Hugh says, giving Joann a peck on the cheek. 

“It’s not like you’re not paying me for it. But really take the night off. You should do this more often, go out I mean.” 

Laughing and shaking his head Hugh pulls on his raincoat, a soft drizzle has already begun outside and he’s parked down the road, and leaves. 

Few of the myths about witches that circulate among the mundanes have any truth to them, but every time he has to deal with downtown traffic Hugh wishes that the myth about witches being able to fly on broomsticks were among the true ones. Not only could he avoid traffic, he’d have less issues finding a parking spot. 

In spite of the challenges Hugh manages to get the wine and get to Saru’s place on time. It a very big and very old house, separated from the narrow street it lies on by tall garden wall behind which is hidden a large front yard filled with tall trees, crooked bushes and wild growing flowers. 

The neighbors probably hate it, unkempt and untidy as it looks, but it is a suitable front garden for a fae. 

Wine bottle tugged under one arm Hugh makes his way to the front door and knocks, using the ornate, old-fashioned door knocker. Nothing so fancy and modern as a door bell for Saru. 

Moments later the door opens, revealing Saru’s gangly form. 

As always when he first sees Saru Hugh feels his breath catch in his throat, a normal reaction to any fae. For though not all fae a beautiful by human standards, even the ones who appears as hideous nightmares are all compelling to humans, even to witches. That is the nature of their glamour. 

Saru breaks into a smile at the sight of Hugh. 

“Come in, the weather is getting dreadful. But it looks like you escaped the worst of the it.” 

He helps Hugh out of his coat. 

“Let me take that and hang it to dry. Head into the dining room, dinner will be there shortly.” 

“You don’t want a hand?” Hugh asks. 

“I invited you and everything tonight is free.” 

Hugh can feel that minute tension that had been coiling in his muscles ease out of him. Dealing with fae, even a friendly fae like Saru, held perils. To them nearly everything was a bargain and when you accepted anything from their hands you agreed to the terms they had set themselves, whether or not you were aware of them or even knew there was terms. More than one mortal had lost their lives or their entire world that way. But for all that there might be hidden cost to a bargain with the fae when a fae said they gave something freely they meant it. 

Hugh smiles. 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend, freely. Here, by the way.” 

He hands Saru the wine bottle. Another thing about the fae, it was always wisest to bring them a gift, a token of goodwill and to gain their favor. 

Saru studies it. 

“Merlot, that will do nicely. Why don’t you go into the dining room and open it. I believe you know where to find the corkscrew?” 

“Unless you redecorated since the last time I was here.” 

Saru tilts his head. 

“You know how set in my way I am.” 

Hugh shrugs. 

“Can’t everyone do with a change now and again?” 

Saru shakes his head. 

“Such a human thing, change. Go on,” he waves Hugh in direction of the dining room. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Hugh can smell the he food even out here in the hall, the rich scent of meat, onions, carrots mix with that of bay leaf and rosemary. 

The dining room is lit dimly by candles on the table and a roaring fire in the fireplace near the table. The table is already laid out for two and a basket with fresh small loaves of bread is placed between the two seatings. Hugh digs out Saru's corkscrew in the bureau, opens the wine and sets the bottle on the table next to the bread basket so it can breathe before heading over to the fire. The heat emanating from it has reminded him of how chill he had gotten outside. 

He’s warming his hands by it when he hears Saru enter, carrying a tray with two bowls of ragout on it. 

“Smells delicious,” Hugh says as he sits down. 

Saru pours the wine as Hugh takes a mouthful of the ragout. 

“And it tastes even better. You’ve outdone yourself Saru.” 

Saru smiles as he raises his filled glass and delicately sniffs at it before taking a sip. 

“One aims to please. And you certainly picked the perfect wine for the food,” he says. 

The conversation flows easily between them as they eat. They chat about mutual acquaintances and exchange gossip about groups and individuals in the supernatural community. Among other things Hugh shares a tidbit about a growing conflict between two vampire coteries and Saru in turn tells him some unknown, but very interesting details about a very well-known falling out in a cabal of wizards that Hugh files away for possible later use. They also discuss a rumor that a pair of Vatican Hunters have been spotted in South Carolina and am working their way north. What they’re looking for no one agrees on and no one seems to have asked, but then no one among the supernatural community would go near a Hunter if they have the choice. 

The Vatican’s group of Hunters that they’ve throughout history used to hunt down vampires and shifters as well as wizards and witches are a source of conflict among the supernatural community. Many see them as a necessary evil, tracking down and killing those who pray too much on the mundane and refuses to be stopped. An ever-growing number are becoming increasingly discontent with that state of affairs believing that supernaturals should police themselves instead of relying on outsiders that as often as not would target those who had done nothing except exist. Hugh is among the latter, a view he has “inherited” from his grandmother. There hasn’t been any Hunters in his neck of the world for almost half a century now and what an appearance now would do to the fragile peace that first his grandmother, and now he and his friends have tried so hard to build he doesn’t know. So for that selfish reason Hugh hopes they go elsewhere. 

The main course finishes on that somber note and Saru begins to clear the table. Hugh stands up with as well, gathering his bowl, plate and eating utensil. 

“A guest does not do house chores,” Saru tells him. 

“No but a friend might.” 

Saru studies him in silence. 

Tonight is not the first time Hugh has offered Saru his friendship though every time so far the fae have politely but firmly rejected it. 

Hugh has never taken offence by it, friendships between fae and mortals are fraught with complications. Because to the fae everything is a bargain of some sort this includes their concept of friendship, to accept a relationship such as that is to permanently agree to give away part of themselves to the mortal. Not only does that give the mortal in question a hold over the fae, when the mortal inevitably dies – often quite quickly by fae standards who live very long lives – they take that part with them unless they relinquish the fae from the bond they have formed. Whether or not the fae in turn gets as much from the mortal they have befriended depends on whether that mortal is a person of integrity, something many fae have learned that one cannot count on a mortal to be. 

So Hugh knows that it is unlikely that Saru will ever accept his offer of friendship yet he keeps offering it, hoping one day Saru might trust Hugh’s integrity enough to accept. 

“Yes, they do,” Saru says slowly as he walks past Hugh. 

Hugh blinks in surprise. It isn’t a yes, not quite, but it isn’t an outright rejection either the way he’s used to as he’s doing and saying nothing to stop Hugh from helping. It is more of a yes than he’s ever had before. 

He helps Saru tidy up after their meal, but once the dishwasher is filled Saru shoos him back into the living room. 

“I will be out with dessert shortly. Please have a drink in the meantime.” 

Hugh takes his queue to retreat returning to the living room and pouring himself a whiskey before settling down in one of the two armchairs placed in front of the fire as he mulls over what just had happened. Small though it might be it was a shift in the relationship they’d had since they first met when Hugh was still a gangly teenager. 

Even without this interesting turn of their relationship Hugh finds he has enjoyed the evening. It’s been a long time since he’s had an evening to just kick back and relax in the company of a (not quite) friend with no responsibilities. Between his shop, his studies to improve his craft and the role he often assumes and peace keeper and negotiator in the community his days have been more than full lately. Perhaps Joann was right, that it had been too long since he’d gone out and just enjoyed himself, seen friends. Perhaps it was time to change that. 

“I see you are already comfortable,” Saru says as he returns carrying two cups of chocolate mousse, handing one to Hugh before taking a seat in the arm chair opposites Hugh’s. 

“You spoil me tonight, Saru,” Hugh says after having taken a few bites. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d think you were flirting with me.” 

The silence with which his words are met makes Hugh look up at Saru. He refuses to believe Saru is truly flirting, for all that fae are often flirty and have a reputation for lasciviousness that is fully deserved, Saru have never displayed any such interest in Hugh or in anyone else for that matter. There have been times that Hugh have almost regretted it and not just because of the effect that Saru’s glamor has on him, but Saru didn’t swing that way. Or any way as far as Hugh knew. 

“When was the last time you did that?” Saru asks him, taking Hugh aback. 

Hugh slowly remove the spoon from his mouth. 

“Did what? Saru, are you asking me about my love life? I didn’t know that interested you,” Hugh says, half teasingly. 

Saru cross his long legs and leans back in his chair. 

“I’m asking you when was the last time you flirted with someone? Or just talked to someone who isn’t your staff or someone else you associate with in a more shall we say professional capacity?” 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“Because my very long life among mortals have taught me that you tend to be unhappy when you don’t socialize in some form. Isolation aren’t good for you.” 

“Saru, I’m not unhappy.” 

“But are you happy?” 

“Yes I- Guess so. Most of the time.” 

Hugh isn’t sure how to respond to the unexpected turn the conversation has taken. 

“But you hardly ever go out. And you used to.” 

“We all grow older and I’m not as young as I used to be. Well, mortals grow older. Who knows with the fae.” 

Saru remains silent and Hugh takes a slow bite of the mousse before commenting again. 

“So you think I should get out more?” Hugh asks. 

“I believe perhaps you should consider it.” 

They sit in silence for a little while. 

“You’re the second person today to suggest this.” 

“May I ask who the other one was?” Saru queries. 

“Joann.” 

“Ah. A perceptive young woman.” 

Hugh chuckles. 

“Of course you’d say that when she agrees with you,” Hugh says with a laugh. 

Again there is silence for a time. 

“When did you set yourself up as a therapist, Saru?” 

“I did not. I simply care about you and your happiness.” 

“And you think I should get out more? Meet someone?” 

“Do you want to?” 

Having finished his dessert, Hugh sets down the glass on the small table near the fire before pulling his feet up under him in the chair. 

“The dating pool for my kind is rather small.” 

“Is it?” 

“Mmmm. I don’t like the thought of dating a mundane. One thing I promised myself long ago was that I would never live half a life, I wouldn’t be with someone where I couldn’t be all of me. That leaves a mixture of witches, wizards, vampires, shapechangers of various forms and of course fae. A much smaller dating pool, especially when looking for another man who is into men and isn’t old enough to be my dad or young enough to be my son.” 

“But if you never look-” 

“Then I’ll never find anyone. Now you’re starting to sound like my parents.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“I just don’t get why everyone is so eager for me to hook up with someone!” 

The words come out much sharper than he intended them and he mutters, “Sorry.” Saru merely looks at him, tilting his head. 

Hugh runs a hand over his face. 

“Why are you so interested in my love life all of a sudden?” 

Saru lens back in his chair. 

“You know that the fae are... attuned to the emotional energy that humans exude?” 

“Mmmm, it’s part of what makes you all so good at-” 

“At cheating and manipulating you?” 

“I was going to say ‘influence us’, but if you insist.” 

“Hugh, I have never pretended that my kind was any better than it is, I will not start now.” 

“Very well, go on then.” 

“Lately I have sensed a change in you. I can best describe it as an ache and a feeling of lacking. I believe, you might be feeling well, lonely.” 

“Saru, I’m anything but. I have my shop, friends.” 

“Hugh, it is possible to feel lonely in the biggest crowd. It does not correspond with numbers.” 

“No, but it usually does with closeness and I have people close to me.” 

“Yes. But perhaps you’re lacking a specific form of closeness?” 

“You mean a boyfriend?” 

“It is possible. Will you at least consider it? Your happiness... means a great deal to me.” 

Surprised, Hugh blinks. 

“I will.” 

The conversation turns to less personal matters after that and they spend an hour and more exchanging more gossip and stories before Hugh takes his leave. 

“Thank you for tonight, Saru,” he says as they say their farewells on Saru’s doorstep. “I appreciate it. And I’ll take your suggestion under advice.” 

“Please do. Till next time.” 

Hugh finds his car and drives home in silence. A soft rain begins not long after he gets in the car and by the time he reaches his house it is pouring down. Slipping into his raincoat and pulling up the hood he sprints for the door. 

The shop is dark and everything locked down just as it should be after closing hours. Stepping through the darkened shop he notices a note Joann has left on the desk next to the cash register. 

‘ _Counted up the cash register. You will need to order more of those new tarot decks, they’re popular. Michael says hi. xxx Joann_ ’ 

Smiling Hugh puts the note down again, making a mental note to order more tarot decks tomorrow before going upstairs. 

Before seeing to himself he makes his way up to the roof. Stepping out into the downpour he’s met with indignant caws from the crows nested about in the low bushes and along the roof of the greenhouse in the rooftop garden. 

“Sorry, I was out. But I haven’t forgotten about you.” 

He pulls the door to the greenhouse open and immediately the crows take flight and scoot inside. 

“There you are, dry and warm until this pass,” he tells them. “I’ll leave the door so you can get out tomorrow. For now, goodnight.” 

Just as he closes the door to the staircase, he hears sees a flash of lightning. It casts a bright flash of illumination into the semi dark stairwell. He stops and counts slowly; the thunderclap comes before he reaches 15. Good thing he got the crows inside. Being wet is no fun, but lightning can kill. 

He goes down to the living room, kicks off his shoes on the landing and carries his dripping coat into the bathroom after having taken it off to let it drip off over the bathtub. Then he walks into the kitchen to make his evening cup of tea but not before having turned on the stereo, allowing the randomizer to pick the music. 

It begins to play ' _Una furtiva_ _lagrima_ ’. The choice makes Hugh smile. A love aria, fitting theme for the evening. 

As he goes about making his tea, chamomile with a dash of honey, a tea that has become a before bed staple for him over the years, he hears the thunder draw closer. There’s power in weather like this and Hugh can feel it flow over and through him as he takes his tea cup and move to the window to look outside. 

Water is streaming down the window pane and the flashes of lightning makes all the cars and trees in the street stand out starkly in the otherwise dark night. 

As he sips the warm tea savoring the taste while he listens to the aria again, reflecting on Saru’s words. 

Is he feeling lonely? A specific kind of lonely? 

It’s been a long time since he was with anyone for even a single night and longer still since he had anything that could be called a romantic relationship. He thought he had made his peace with the fact that he is single and likely to remain so, but maybe he hasn’t. 

He does miss waking up next to someone, having breakfast with them. Sitting around late reading or talking. Just having someone. Having someone have him. 

Hmmm, maybe Saru did indeed have a point. 

But that doesn’t invalidate his own. His potential dating pool is small and it isn’t like there’s a specific dating app for supernaturals? 

Hugh closes his eyes and feels the power of the storm. 

A spell perhaps? Could that be an answer? To draw in not a specific person but someone he could love, someone who could love him? 

Hugh finishes his tea and puts the cup in the dishwasher after having rinsed it off then goes upstairs, into his combined study and craft room. 

The walls to the left of the door are lined with bookcases and a large desk with a computer on top and chair placed near the window. To the right there are shelves and cupboards, all filled with components for magical workings, along with a smaller table. 

Hugh ignores the bookshelves; he already knows what he’ll need. Love spells like curses are among the simplest form of magic that anyone with even the smallest bit of skill can cast, and like curses they’re the ones who can most easily go awry if the caster isn’t careful. Too often someone trying to cast a love spell is trying to gain the affection of one specific individual, if attraction isn’t already there trying to awaken it or to bind the subject to the caster against their desires will inevitably have disastrous results. 

But that is not what Hugh intends to do. He’s looking to draw someone yes, but not a specific individual but a person with specific traits that he would find attractive in a lover and a person who would find him and his personality attractive too. Whether or not anything would come of their meeting only time would tell, but the spell would make sure that they would meet. 

Meticulously Hugh picks from the shelves and cupboards what he needs. 

First a candle, a red one. Not just because it’s a traditional component, it fits with what he intends and it’s romantic. Rose petals, also red, dried as roses are out of season. A piece of paper, light rose in color, and a bright pink marker pen. Corny perhaps but effective. Finally, a fire proof bowl and a sharp knife. 

He sits down cross-legged on the floor he begins to breathe slow and rhythmically. Lighting the candle puts it in a candle holder in front of him, the bowl holding the dried petals between it and him and the paper and marker beside the bowl. 

He calls up his power, feeling the storm amplify it, before lighting the candle. 

The light in the room is muted and the candle is the greatest source of illumination as Hugh picks up the paper and marker. In his mind he tries to envision what kind of man he wants then he writes that down on the paper. 

-Kindness. 

-Humor. 

-A quick tongue. 

-Dedication. 

-Compassion. 

-A good kisser. 

When the list is written he holds the paper into the candle flame, lighting it on fire, drops it into the bowl and watches in silence as it burns to ash. He drops in a handful of rose petals, crushing them between his fingers and stirs them together with the ash. Then he picks up the knife and cuts a small gash in his ring finger, letting three drops of blood fall into the bowl. 

He stirs it together with the tip of the knife whispering, “Bring a man such as this to me, that I may love and who may love me.” 

He feels the surge of magic course through his hands and his words, empowering the spell. With a smile he stands up and brings the bowl with its content to the window, pulls back the curtain and opens it. 

Outside the storm is retreating, the wind has died down and the rain is barely a drizzle but thunder can still be heard not too far away. Hugh tips the bowl, letting the breeze carry away the mix of his words, the petals and his blood, sending his call off into the night to call a suitable match to him. 

The empty bowl he rests on the window sill as he remains standing at the open window, feeling the soft strings of magic unwind and listening to the sound of the night and the weather. 


End file.
